Skeleton Rose
by Verboten Byacolate
Summary: They called her by a name she no longer remembers in a place she would rather forget. [PeinKonan][slight AU]
1. one

For _**IrisEclipsed**_.

**Skeleton Rose**

They called her by a name she no longer remembers in a place she would rather forget.

It was a day of routine, one she'd been through a thousand times before. Training to become stronger, faster, better than she already was. It was only the fault of her teammates to make her believe that a woman could only be a medic. She didn't want a conformist future; she wanted her own.

That may have been how she'd gained his attention. She hadn't been sure why a Grass nin was in her training grounds and requesting a spar, but she was not one to recline from a challenge.

She found him to be a formidable foe, much to her delight. But he left after he'd had her pinned roughly to a tree, leaving her only a vow of return. She held him to his word each time he visited her.

It soon became an unspoken promise on both of their part; he would always come back if she was there waiting for him with a blade.

_.d.a.n.c.e._


	2. two

He allowed himself to smile at her subtle gesture of entertainment. The paper that had lifted from her skin shredded itself into tiny pieces in front of his eyes, and she acted as if she hadn't noticed, hadn't made it happen, by letting her focused, yet lax gaze keep on the kunai she was sharpening.

But he knew better; she rarely even used kunai.

"Will they wonder where you are?" he asked, lifting a hand through the tiny paper bits and making them scatter in the air, dancing to regain the lost proximity. She glanced up, ice-colored eyes boring straight through him.

"Sensei may. But he won't mind."

He nods, eyes following the small group of bold shreds that near his nose. They kept quiet, letting things they both knew go unsaid.

_He would if he knew who she was with._

_.s.i.l.e.n.c.e._


	3. three

_Well... I'm halfway bummed that Kishi gave us Pein and Konan's story. Now mine isn't quite as realistic! But I've thought it out pretty thoroughly, so I'm still going on with it. Does this make it slightly AU...?_

_--_

She is young. Still impressionable. He has plans for her.

Diving toward her open back, he forced her to the ground only to be half-smothered by a large swarm of origami swans that she had priorly been so engrossed in making. She frowned at him through the parchment.

"You ruined my concentration."

He glared back pushing her shoulders farther into the soft grass. The low hum of cicadas burned into the background and the sunset's deep orange hues barely made their way through the thick layers of leaves. They were shielded from near everything in this place. It was their training grounds. It was their home.

"Your concentration should have been on me from the beginning."

_.b.r.e.a.t.h.e._


	4. four

_... Pein is from Grass, right? Sigh. I really wish I was a bit more in the know. _

_--_

For reasons unknown, he has found himself touching her whenever possible. Nothing much, simply the feel of flesh on flesh was enough for him. He especially enjoyed the way her index and middle fingers would jab against his pressure points, sending a jolt up and down the "offended" limb.

It was a rare occasion, though. She only used that technique on the days when she was angry with him.

Today seemed to be one of those days, for she'd already paralyzed his left arm and his leg from the thigh down.

He smirked, dodging a swipe from her new, still-developing technique; one in which her paper morphed itself into wings. It always failed, though; the paper would always lose to gravity, instead wrapping itself around her form. Protecting her, as it would seem.

Parchment, apparently, always had the right idea.

_.f.l.y._


	5. five

_And my AU plans kick in right about here..._

--

He first learned that she had a sister on the first day that she was not there, sitting at the base of the dark oak tree, folding paper cranes while waiting for him to meet her. This was normal; their schedual. It was an unspoken rule that it was not broken for _anything_.

So it was only natural that he be slightly... apprehensive. Not worried. No, not _even_ apprehensive.

More like curious.

Further investigation led him to the startling concept of her life beyond him. Unfamiliar territory. He does not divulge into any more of the thoughts until she returns, poker-faced; same as always.

But when he catches her eye, she knows.

"Her name is Koena. She is dying."

_.l.i.v.e._


	6. six

_Okay. Pein is from Rain. Here, he is from Grass. No beefs, I hope._

--

She first let him kiss her when she was too exhausted to refuse.

He'd worked her hard, and just hard enough to make her fall to her knees beneath their tree. The bark pressed tiny imprints on her hands, marring the smooth flesh as she struggled to rise again, to fend him off just a moment longer. But to no avail; somehow, she knew what was coming.

He advanced upon her struggling form, he himself a little worse for the wear, inching closer until their toes were brushing.

"Konan." The name she barely remembers rolls easily off of his lips. He calmly takes hold of both of her hands, stilling the fervent movement of the origami butterflies inside them. "Don't fight." _And it happened._

She supposed that it was all just a part of his big plan.

The smallest of smiles met her lips and bowed low when she realized that she just may be a part of it.

_.l.e.a.r.n._


	7. seven

He refuses to go easy on her as always; she knows this, of course, meeting him fully the whole way. They rarely switch tactics anymore; he always _seems_ to be the dominant one, but she is obviously in control. With a kunai between her teeth, she dives behind a tree, watching for him. Waiting.

He crashes into her almost immediately after she changes the move he is so used to; he despises change. She stares at him coldly when he pins her once more, a lecture of blades in his hands, meeting her teeth and tongue and flesh and steel all at once. In a beautiful crescendo, she writhes beneath him, her passion for battle and lust for blood counter his for her. There is nothing to stop either.

If one were to look upon them in their haven, they would see a sadistic, masochistic dance unfold. Their torturous, horizontal tango.

No one looks, though.

And they dance on.

_.b.l.o.o.m._

_More innuendos, huh, Iris? ;_)


End file.
